“I know.” Of course he did.
It didn’t hit all at once. No lightning bolt, no clean moment where everything lined up and made sense. It crept in under the noise, under the arguments and the logic I kept throwing at it, until there wasn’t a version of this I could explain away anymore.
Because this—whatever this was—it wasn’t just attraction, and it wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t even the pull of something dangerous, though God knew Novak had that in spades.
It was him.
The way he focused was absolute and unrelenting. The way he chose and then didn’t waver because he’d already decided I was his.
That should have been the part that sent me running.
Instead, it was the part I couldn’t walk away from.
And that was when it hit me somewhere deep enough that I couldn’t shake it loose no matter how hard I tried.
I’m in love with Leon Novak.
A man who didn’t do soft, didn’t do halfway, didn’t do anything without intent. A man who would burn the world downif it meant keeping me safe—and wouldn’t hesitate while he did it.
And knowing that meant I had to decide what the hell I was going to do about it.
“You’re not the only one who’s a problem,” I said quietly.
His head tilted, interest sharpening. “Explain.”
“I’ve seen what this looks like,” I said. “Killian, Lyric, Enzo… It’s not normal, but it works, because it’s absolute, and I get that.” I swallowed, because saying it out loud made it real. “And I think I’m a little obsessed with you, too.”
His grip tightened, his focus narrowed even further. “Define ‘a little,’” he said.
I leaned in, and our lips brushed again. “Enough that I’m still here.”
He kissed me again, slower this time but deeper, and I let it happen, let myself get sucked into it, because whatever this was, however it ended, I already knew I wasn’t walking away.
“Wait,” I said, leaning past him to start the next set of reports, uploading the camera footage to Lyric’s brand-new, less homicidal AI, watching until the progress ticked over to one percent. “We have ninety-nine percent.”
I straightened, aware of him behind me, of the space he occupied, of the way this had changed without me noticing. I wasn’t managing him, wasn’t containing anything, wasn’t doing the job I’d told myself this was. I wanted him, plain and simple, and more than that, I was choosing him without any of the usual checks or second-guessing, no internal argument, no attempt to step back and reassess.
I turned back, pushed him against the wall, and dropped to my knees, because after everything he’d said, there was no point pretending I was in control of this anymore.
I didn’t expect him to cook, but Novak tugged me upstairs, with the download at seventy-five percent, because yes, we’dgotten off that fast, set water on to boil, took out a box of mac and cheese from the cupboard, and lined up cookies on a plate with the same precision he used for everything else. The domesticity was so at odds with everything he’d told me that I found myself watching instead of interrupting, tracking his hands as he measured, stirred, drained, added the powdered cheese and milk, tasted, adjusted, then plated it and set it in front of me with coffee.
I couldn’t stop looking at him, at the control in every movement, the same control I’d felt in his hands on my cock after the blowjob.
I’m in love with you, Leon Novak.
I can’t imagine a life without you in it.
“Eat,” he said.
“You cook,” I said, because I needed to say something that wasn’t about the way my body was still keyed up from him, and he nodded once.
“It’s efficient to know how,” he replied, and then, after a beat that felt deliberate, “You need fuel,” and the way he said it made it sound less like food and more like maintenance. I ate while he leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, eyes on me the entire time, and it should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t, it was charged, and when I reached for a cookie he was already there, pushing the plate closer, his fingers brushing mine for a second too long to be accidental, sending a sharp flicker of awareness through me.
“You always do this?” I asked, nodding at the setup, and he shrugged.
“I’ll do what makes you happy,” he said, and then, quieter, his gaze locking on mine, “You’re my life, Caleb.” Then he washed his hands. “I’ll do a perimeter check.”
“I’ll be down doing... stuff.” I waved at the stairs toward the small room with my computers.
